How To Flirt With A Box
by lilsherlockian1975
Summary: Sherlock and Molly debate over his flirting skills with some very surprising results. Gift for Ashtreenz1
_This fic is for_ _ **ashtreenz**_ _, it's a long and weird story (in which I basically look like a giant dork) as to why I'm gifting it to her but basically she's a doll, so here it is. HUGE thanks to MizJoely for betaing this and advice on the ending and MrsMCrieff for helping with a moment in the middle. I have the best friends! : ) Oh, mistakes are mine._

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

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"I don't understand. Why are you not impressed?"

Molly laughed. "I'm sorry, but it's just… well you're a horrible flirt. Quite bad at it really," she said, still laughing as she turned to check the time on the centrifuge.

"What?" he asked, dumbfounded.

She turned back around. "Oh yes. I almost forgot." She put one hand to her temple and looked thoughtful for a moment. "How should I explain this so you understand? There is something in the world that you are not good at," she said slowly, as if she were talking to a child.

"Okay, first of all, as I just explained, my flirting was indeed successful this evening. The suspect's girlfriend folded like a house of cards. Secondly, and I don't mean to be cruel, Molly, but for such a bad flirt it worked on you..." he moved closer and dropped his voice, "...for years."

Molly looked up at him with wide eyes, her chest heaving as she licked her lips. Then she broke out laughing. "For shit's sake, Sherlock! The magic's been gone since I saw Little Sherly when I had to dig a bullet out of your inner thigh while you were in hiding. I hope you learned your lesson about wearing pants, by the way."

Sherlock bristled. "Wet, cold and near death. I wasn't at my best, Molly. I assure you, Little Sherly isn't always _that_ little," he insisted. "I'm a grower, not a show-er, for your information."

She laughed but he didn't miss the pink on her cheeks. "Oh stop, will you? Just admit that there's something you're not good at."

"No, because as I've pointed out it used to work on you _and_ it worked tonight," he argued.

"Well of course it worked tonight. Your celebrity alone probably got the poor girl worked up. And as for working on me..." The centrifuge dinged and she took a tube out, looked at it and put it in a rack. "I was once enamored with you, you git. It didn't take much. That wasn't skill. That was… _genetics_ and all those brains. Frankly that's more to your mum and dad's credit than your flirting abilities." She laughed and sat down and started making notes.

Sherlock simply couldn't believe that he wasn't good at something. "So you're saying that I can't possibly have any effect on you now?"

"No, you cannot," she said emphatically.

"And that I haven't in years?"

"Nope," she replied, not looking up, too busy drawing a sample from the tube.

"I caught you eyeing me at John and Mary's wedding several times."

"Well yes! You looked lovely in that damn suit and I'd been drinking." She gestured to him with the syringe in her hand. "I'm human, what can I cay?" She then deposited a few drops on the red gel of the petri dish.

Her apparent disinterest was, for some reason, deeply disheartening. He no longer cared about the flirting issue so much as proving that she was still attracted to him. "That day in the hall at train guy's flat!"

"Yeah. What about it?" She looked over at him curiously.

"Your breath caught when I bent down to kiss you. You had tears in your eyes," he said.

"You weren't flirting with me then, were you? Because that would be the most pathetic attempt…"

"No, my point is if the _magic's been gone_ since the thigh bullet incident, why'd you look like that?" he asked, thinking he'd finally tripped her up.

She picked up the culture and walked over to the incubator, "I don't think I want to talk about this anymore."

Sherlock stalked closer, feeling pretty smug about the whole thing. "Why? Because I'm right?"

"Just leave it, Sherlock," she said after putting away the dish and closing the door.

"What's wrong? What is it?" He couldn't help but keep pressing, it was who he was. He had to have answers. "What don't you want to say? Come on, Molly, tell me."

"You looked sad, okay?" she blurted out. "You looked sad and… regretful or… something. I don't know, mournful? Whatever it was was, it was gone as quick as it came. But it was weird and not you. Or not what should be you." She had stepped away from him during her speech, putting some distance between them. "I know what we are. But for a split second… _damnit_." She shook her head. "I don't like you looking sad, especially if I'm the cause and I can't figure out why."

Sherlock suddenly felt very odd. He sat down on the bench she'd vacated and pulled up the memory of that day. He remembered asking her out for chips and her polite rejection- or attempt at one. Then the explanation of her relationship. _Yes_ , he had been sad. In an instant he was hit with an onslaught of memories and emotions.

He looked up at her, shocked and a little overwhelmed. "I _was_ sad. I was… saying goodbye to you." He looked away and mumbled, "To something."

"Don't," she said shaking her head. "Please don't say anything else." She was fighting back tears. "It doesn't matter. Because you're… you."

He nodded his head looking down, still processing everything. "Right, of course, you're right."

Molly sighed. "I, um, need to just…" She started to walk past him but he grabbed her wrist.

"Just a minute," he said.

"Sherlock…"

"No, it's important. I... think." He stood up, still holding her wrist. Entering his mind palace he was once again in the hallway of the building with Molly. He saw her face and realised what he was losing- giving up to some bloke named Tom with a dog, who wasn't from work and goes to the pub. Resignation set in instantly and he trapped his feelings away. Along with the urge to… "I remember now," he said looking up. "I wanted to kiss you- _really_ kiss you."

"No you didn't."

"I did. But I couldn't."

A tear fell down Molly's cheek. "Can I have my arm back now?"

"I told you, this is important," he said, looking down into her sad brown eyes. They weren't just sad, they looked a little frightened. It actually hurt him to see her like that, but he had to keep going. Something was making him. "Would you have let me kiss you, Molly?" he asked, moving closer.

"Probably," she answered, sounding a little defeated.

"Why?"

"Because you looked so sad and hurt," she said, not looking him in the eyes. "And when you love someone, you don't want to seem them like that. If a kiss would have made it better..."

"You loved me even though you were in love with Tom?" he interrupted.

She nodded.

"I don't like seeing you sad either, Molly."

She tried to pull away from him. "Don't say things like that, Sherlock."

"Why- why shouldn't I?"

"Because," she looked up at him and swallowed. "Well, you have a mind palace, right? I- I have this little b-box where I keep you. Well not you. But the things I feel about you that I can't deal with. And, um, I don't want to unlock it."

"You don't want to? But can I?" he asked. "See, I might have done something similar and I think it just opened up."

"Oh hell." She rolled her eyes. "That was really bloody romantic."

"Really?" He smiled. "I wasn't even trying."

She looked around nervously. "I don't know, Sherlock. This isn't you. You aren't supposed to… that word… me."

"I know, not just you though. I didn't think I could... not anybody. But it appears that I do."

She closed her eyes and bit her lip. He knew she was torn and he really couldn't blame her. He was just as shocked as she was, but he also knew what he wanted. "Molly, open your eyes." She did. "We're friends, right?" She nodded her head. "So you must already know that I love you."

"No," she whispered.

He put his hands on either side of her face. "Well, of course I do. Is it that hard to believe that I could be _in_ love with you?"

"Do you know how hard it was to make that stupid box?" she asked through gritted teeth. "The box you just destroyed?"

He smiled and rubbed his thumbs across her wet cheeks. "I started my mind palace when I was eight."

"Showoff."

"I didn't expect this anymore than you did. I just wanted you to admit that I'm a good flirt," he said with a smirk.

"I'm still not admitting it."

"Really?" he said then he moved his hands to her waist just inside her lab coat, pulling her close and whispered, "I've never been in love before, Molly. That means I've never been with someone, _sexually_ , that I actually loved. I can't wait to experience that with you." He kissed her neck then pulled back and looked into her eyes.

" _Oh_ …"

"Sure you don't want to admit..."

Molly grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him down, molding her lips to his. Oh, yes, that box was well and truly demolished. After several minutes of extremely satisfying kissing, Sherlock asked, "Want to go back to Baker Street and get a better look at 'Little Sherly'?" He nipped at her ear as he held her close to emphasize his point. "I promise a better show than last time."

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 _Thank you all for reading! Please let me know what you think, it would mean a lot ~Lil~_


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